A Fault in Memory
by Black Balloon
Summary: A girl lost. A spirit controls. Memories are lost, excepting for those of a creature with white hair and cruel eyes.


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I look out on a dark world and see… dark. A black sky, even at noon. People milling about below in dark clothes, huddling in bleary little circles, doing dreary things.

The world is very dark. 

It makes sense, as a dark spirit leads it. You. 

You weren't supposed to be able to do it. No. Yami should have reigned in glory, and everything would be right and good. It made sense back then. 

Now it does not. 

I don't know why you chose me while Mai and Anzu were there.  They were much more beautiful, elegant, and feminine. But no. It is me. You took me after you came to power, and told me I was yours. Your toy, and yours alone.  As for Mai and Anzu…

They are dead now, aren't they?

You killed Jou, my brother too. Yugi, Seto, Yami… They are all gone now. It only makes sense that you would have killed them as well. 

Little defenseless Shizuka, as strong as a wilting flower, lives while people like my brother have died.

Why did you choose me?  Why did you do this at all? Does it satisfy what little conscience you have left to hold me, and give me gifts, touch my hair?

You read me books, listen to classical music with me, and keep me amused. I live in a world of silk and lace, musty libraries, granadilla clarinets, beautiful gowns, and other pleasantries. 

As you once put it, the modern mortals have come up with some amazing things, considering what you call their 'inherent stupidity'. 

With all its finery and beauty, this is a dark world. Only you and I and a few others know of the beauty this fortress holds. The rest of the world, which you have not killed or hired, lives in a drudgery of filth and tyranny.

Even your inner-sanctum is not safe from these imperfections. Little capsules filled with a substance come in every time I question you and your ways. 

So I float here amongst seas of finery, so you can care and coddle and teach me and feel better about yourself. 

I should hate you. Loathe and despise and hate you. I did, at first. I used to imagine your death, even dream about it. 

Strangely enough, they were bad dreams. They left me inexplicably sad. I guess, in a twisted way, I love you. Twisted as it is, it befits this world you have created. Everything here is twisted, even the trees. 

You… You come in at the oddest hours. Like clockwork, as the old grandfather clock strikes 11,  you slide into my room, into my bed, and sleep beside me.  Curl me up in your arms and just drift away into the nightmarish place of your dreams. 

Every night since you have come into my room, you have woken me up with your screams.

What do you dream about that makes you scream like that. When that person, whom I cannot remember, hurt you in a way I forgot, you didn't flinch. 

But back to the issue with love.  

You don't love me in a conventional way. No.  You wouldn't do that. Couldn't do that, even if you tried. 

It makes as much sense as pigs flying. But unlike the pigs, it is real. 

My mind is going, now that I look at this page. I am disjointed and inconsistent. And I talk about flying pigs. I forget things.  My sentences run on and all I can remember are just the broadest of things… Unless it is you. I remember you like a photo, in that strange little place behind your eyes that you can just see when you close them.

That is my life. I am adored by the crazed dictator of the earth, loved and protected from it all. You keep me hidden though. That is the biggest part of all, which I finally remember. 

No one can know about me. I am your downfall. You weakness. Your Achilles heel. Rebellion would succeed if they could find a way to kill me. 

Because, in the end, for all your cruelty and intelligence and insanity… 

I forget. 

But I remember you. Only you. And looking at the cream sheet of this page, which I had really meant to fill up,  helps me remember  you yet again. 

You are the same color as this sheet. White. White hair, white skin. And black brown eyes that only soften for me. 

I guess I should be flattered. 

I will tell you if I remember…

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This is why English class is good. I got better at writing.  This fic is the result of listening to too much of Satie. 

I was inspired by drama-princess's story Penny for a Kiss and by the book 'The Seer and the Sword'. Please, go read. 


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